Snatching Love
by BerryMerry
Summary: On the same day as a fall puts paid to Ginny Potter’s burgeoning Quidditch career, she meets the woman who will shape the rest of her life- for better or for worse. Het canon pairings, and future femmeslash. Ginny and Astoria.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Snatching Love

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating:** T for the moment

**Pairing:** Canon Ginny/Harry, Draco/Astoria, future Ginny/Astoria

**A/N:** Currently canon and epilogue compliant, though that may change, and the timeline might be a little messed up

**Summary**: On the same day as a fall puts paid to Ginny Potter's burgeoning Quidditch career, she meets the woman who will shape the rest of her life- for better or for worse. Het canon pairings, and future femmeslash. Ginny and Astoria.

* * *

"Annnnnd it's Crater to Potter, passing the Quaffle with a lovely display of skill there, while Seekers Smith and Holly are watching each other's closest moves. Potter uses a classic Irina manoeuvre and passes the Quaffle to Salmon...."

Ginny smiled in satisfaction as Ivy Salmon her teammate caught the Quaffle in one hand gracefully, and putting on a burst of speed scored. After three years at the Holyhead Harpies, the three Chasers worked smoothly together and Ginny had learnt a lot of things including letting others make the vital shot when you knew they had a better chance. The sound of cheers echoed up from the stadium, and she smiled and waved to the crowd who responded enthusiastically to the woman who was not only the star Chaser of the Harpies, but also Harry Potter's wife. The game had been going on for two hours, and in the interests of keeping the crowds interested, it was common for the Snitch to momentarily chime two or three times and give the Seekers a hint. Both Sadie Smith the Holyhead Harpies Seeker, and Adolf Holly the Blackberries star had one eye glued on each other, and the other constantly scanning the pitch.

Since the Quaffle was back in play though, she had work to do, rather than muse on the team's positions, and she threw herself back into the game, dodging around a Bludger and heading straight for the opposing Chaser who had his eyes narrowed. The broom sped up at her mental urging, and she arrowed straight towards him, hoping to intimidate him into passing the Quaffle or even dropping it. Ivy rose beside her, sensing her intention and throwing her a savage grin. They were going to _win _this game. As they hurtled towards the Chaser though, Ginny heard a choke from beside her, though it was instantly whipped away by the wind. She turned, and saw to her horror that Ivy was stark white, and her seat on the broom was wobbly. Deciding the Quaffle meant less than guiding her team-mate safely to the ground, she slowed the broom, and blocked Ivy's path forcing her to halt. Taking her wand from her emergency pocket she used it carefully in the charm every Holyhead player knew that overrode the team's broom's controls and returned it carefully to the ground.

The broom drifted away, and she turned back to the game, ready to signal the ref that something was wrong with the player, and at that moment she heard a terrified shout and saw Mark Forster, the opposing Chaser hurtling towards her, fingers outstretched as though to push her away from something. As her finely honed Quidditch senses came into play, she turned and saw the Bludger racing towards her. Instinctively she used the tactic most common against Bludgers- grip as tightly to your broom as possible, curl up to present as small and strong a target as you can, and command your broom to _race. _It would probably have worked if she hadn't been clutching her wand, and not able to hold her broom as tightly as she should. The ingrained instinct of the magical, never to drop your wand kicked in, and her overriding sense of fair play refused to let her even attempt to charm the Bludgers.

When she fell, it was almost peaceful.

Though the sky was rushing past, and the ground seemed to be coming towards her at an alarming rate, she didn't feel much of anything- not even fear. And when she hit the ground with a crunch that bordered sickening, she still couldn't feel anything. The last thing she saw before the pain hit, and unconsciousness mercifully took her was a blonde woman silently shouting.

* * *

She learnt afterwards that she had been unlucky. The Bromwell Blackberries were a poor team, and they hadn't won a premier match in six months. The maintenance charms on their pitch were wearing thin, and they'd made a conscious decision that they'd leave it until the end of the season before devoting the funds to having specialist wizards repair it. She'd hit the weakest part, and the charms that were meant to soften her fall, and have her bounce slightly, enough to break her fall had failed badly. She'd hit the ground at full speed, and broken so many bones in her body that if it hadn't been for the Stasis Charm a spectator had cast, she wouldn't have even made it to St Mungos alive.

She listened of course from inside the casts that helped keep her bones straight while they healed. She listened numbly and hollowly, and the words meant nothing to her. She didn't care why this had happened. All she wanted to know and they refused to tell her, was, was she going to get better? They'd told her that they'd managed to minimise the spinal damage, and there was no risk of paralysation, yet they tiptoed around the subject of what _was _wrong.

It was an older Healer who told her finally. He held her hand and told her that she probably couldn't fly again, and certainly never again at the speed needed to play Quidditch professionally. Some of her bones had snapped in multiple places, and he pointed out that though they could be healed easily enough, that it left weakness in parts of the bone that could be exploited easily. It was professional, very neatly done, and she lay and stared at the ceiling afterwards, willing the tears to come. Yet not one fell despite the pulsing agony in her chest.

After a bit of time Harry came to see her. He pressed her hand in the same way the Healer had done, and she managed to vacantly smile at him, as he mumbled reassurances about her being all better soon, and that was so much else she could do. His words soon blurred into a meaningless stream of placatory comments, and she drifted away, shaking her head minutely when he asked if she wanted to see anyone else. A nurse tapped him on the shoulder after half an hour and told him visiting time was over, and he willingly, she couldn't help noticing rather bitterly went. But that was for the best. If he said one more time how the Blackberries should be punished, she was going to scream.

The next morning she was awake early, and watched impassively as efficient medi-wizards removed her cast and gave her some hospital robes to wear. Her skin and her bones felt soft and sore and tender, and she couldn't help wincing even at the touch of the light cotton robes. Arranging herself back on the bed, she lay back and waited for the ordeal to come. Harry and her parents were first naturally, Harry rushing forward, happiness apparent in his eyes that stirred no responding emotion in her. Her mother hugged her before anyone could warn her, and Ginny screamed in pain at feeling her still fragile body constricted. Her mother let go as though burned and stepped back. There was really little to say, and Arthur, Molly and Harry kept up the conversation through light pleasantries that were meaningless and pointless. Eventually Hermione, Ron, George, Bill and various other members of her far too large family filled the room, all of them stricken by the same awkward urge to babble as though to compensate for the fact that the centre of all the attention had her gaze firmly fixed in the distance.

In the middle of George nervously expounding on some theory he had on Bone-Strengthening potion, she finally broke. "May I have a bit of time alone?" she asked, and her voice was soft and quiet and dull, and nobody in the room had ever heard it sound quite like that before, and that might have been the reason there were only nominal protests made. Harry was the last to leave of course, his face unreadable, Ron and Hermione on either side of him as always, and when they'd _finally _left she turned her face to the wall, careful of her still fragile skin and tried to force the tears to come.

In the silence of the room she distinctly heard the soft swish of robes. "Please Harry, just let me be for a bit," she said passively, hoping he would simply leave.

A rich, very non-male voice answered. "I'm not your husband I'm afraid."

Ginny carefully turned to face the witch, wincing as the memory of that face cut through her. It was the woman from the Quidditch match, and even more than that it seemed ineffably familiar as though she had once known her vaguely. She was tall, but not as tall as she seemed, and the wheaten blond hair gathered up on her head in a elegant bun added to the general impression of height and power. Her dress-robes perfectly matched her eye colour, a deep vibrant blue that also set off her white skin to perfection. Ginny was instantly aware of how very small she seemed even in the narrow hospital bed, of how her hair desperately needed a wash, how the robes though functional also gave her the appearance of a mental patient and also that she should know this woman. "Why do you want to speak to me?" she asked quietly.

The woman smiled at her. "I cast the Stasis Charm on you," she replied. "I wanted to see how you are."

Blood rushed to Ginny's face as she thought of how rude she must have sounded, indeed how ungrateful, and she stumbled to try to rectify the matter. "Thank you so much," she said, hating how the words sounded weak and thin. She smiled at the woman, "they say I would have died if you hadn't been so fast."

A faint tinge of a blush stained the other woman's white skin. "You're welcome," she said simply. "I'm sorry, I have to go now, a meeting, but it was lovely to meet you." She turned to leave, and suddenly, irrationally interested in the self possessed woman, Ginny spoke.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The other woman's back straightened, and she was silent for a second, then she replied. "Astoria." She didn't give a last name.

* * *

Once she was certain that she was well away from the room, Astoria stopped her brisk walk and leant against a wall, feeling the hot flush on her face. What on earth had caused her to blush as though she was a thirteen year on a first date? She was the one who had done Ginny Potter a favour not the other way round. Annoyed, she brushed at her robes, smoothing the cuffs, and drew her dairy from her inner pocket. Lunch with Draco. She nodded briskly to herself, and carefully charmed the robes which were suitable for a morning visit to a hospital, to ones that were stylishly trimmed for entry at the exclusive Circe's Reach. When she'd told Draco yesterday who she had saved from near certain death, his reaction had not been one that she expected. He'd congratulated her, but the near feverish calculation that would have gripped his mind before the war even under that cold mask he wore, was notably absent at least to her experienced eyes.

Having Apparated to the entrance of Circe's Reach, she let the obsequious waiter divest her of her cloak, and escort her to where her supposedly adoring husband sat in obvious boredom. She smiled when she saw him. A love match it might not be, but in the two years since their marriage they had learnt how to be happy with each other, and while it wasn't what she had dreamed of, it _was _mutually beneficial to both of them. Draco was still rich, and money was still a commodity prized by purebloods (it was so _useful _for getting your own way,) while as one of the only pure blooded witches in Slytherin house whose family had no links to Voldemort, she had become a marriageable prize for wizards as tainted as Malfoy with the Dark. She blessed her family's comparative poverty once again, as she had many times before this. While it had meant she could not have the latest broom on her birthday every year in her childhood, it also meant that Voldemort hadn't bothered to seek them out and have them join him. The Greengrasses were an old and respected family, but with no money and few politically advantageous connections they had been left mostly alone, and that had reaped its reward after the war.

Even Zabini with his long standing connection with Pansy Parkinson and her family had made overtures of courtship- anything for the pureblood without the ignominy attached. She had chosen Draco quite sensibly. Malfoy's never had more than one child if they could help it, and Astoria certainly didn't plan on getting pregnant more than once. Draco was good-looking, he had no shameful secret liaisons (and if he did, they were kept well hidden enough that she really didn't care,) and he'd been the only one who'd been honest to her, that he _didn't _love her, but that he liked her a great deal. In the end that had been good enough. Or certainly the best deal offered anyway. As she wended her way through the tables and thought on her marriage, a frown wrinkled her smooth forehead. The Potters had, had a love match, the entire wizarding world knew that, how could anyone ignore it- their wedding had been food for gossip for weeks. Yet when Ginny Potter had mistaken her for Harry Potter her husband, there had been nothing but tiredness in her voice as she asked him to leave her alone.

She narrowed her eyes impatiently as she sat down opposite Draco. Why was she thinking so much about the other young woman? There was nothing special about Ginny Potter, had been nothing special at Hogwarts, when she'd been plain old Ginny Weasley and Astoria had shared Potions classes with her. And now she was simply the wife of Harry Potter. She turned to the menu, barely needing to scan it. She was still on her diet after all, and with little deliberation she went for one of the smaller salads, casting a disdainful eye at the Dover sole on Draco's plate. He noticed, and gave her a smile. "Did you visit the hospital?" he asked casually, as he cut up the perfectly steamed vegetables. She nodded, and he smoothly moved onto another subject of conversation until her salad arrived. Then he went straight for the jugular. "You seem a little distracted dear," he smiled at her. "Did something go wrong on your mission of mercy? My little ministering angel seems to be someplace far from here."

She scowled at him without moving a feature, an impressive trick she knew, and one that always amused him. "Nothing is wrong," she grumbled, and moved aside the fettuccini impatiently. Looking up she caught his smirk, and glared until he dropped it. "I just thought something that shocked me."

He leaned forward, interested now she could tell. Nothing much shocked a Slytherin. "Tell me," he whispered. Another trait Slytherins shared was a tendency to want to _know. _Not for knowledge's sake like a Ravenclaw, just for the pure pleasure of knowing something others didn't , and being able to use it in a myriad of amusing ways. Of course, some people just thought they were terrible gossips.

She tapped her silver fork thoughtfully on the side of the bone china plate, then took pity on his pleading expression. "I got the merest feeling, the slightest sensation that not everything is well in the Potter marriage."

Draco settled back thoughtfully. "Not to seem rude my darling, but why would that bother you?"

"It doesn't," she protested uncomfortably, then because he _was _her husband, and a good friend after two years of having his corners and edges whittled away by a much harsher world, she explained. "It's not meant to happen to people like the Potters. They're meant to get married and love each other, and have children with stupid names. That's their reward isn't it?" She was uneasily aware of how much like a Hufflepuff she must have sounded, babbling on about true love, but Draco's face was not judging her, it seemed far away in fact.

"You're right," he said quietly at last. "That is meant to be their reward. But would it make either of them happy. I knew Potter as well as anyone during Hogwarts, even if it was while being an absolute prat." His face twisted when he said it, Astoria knew how hard it was for him still to face who he had been when he was younger, the guilt and the shame roiling together, along with the stomach churning upset that he had been that foolish and that weak, and she squeezed his hand tightly. He smiled at her, and carried on "Potter still doesn't seem to want more than he wanted in school, some adventure, his friends and safety at the end of the day, while your new friend Mrs Potter is a more complex being than that I would guess. Because the pair of them have been given what everyone assumed would be their ideal reward- true love and marriage at age nineteen, which is a typically Gryffindor way to look at things. Us Slytherins have it right I think." He sipped his wine, and there was a strange melancholia in his eyes, as though he didn't entirely believe what he was saying.

* * *

First chapter completed. Hope you enjoyed, and CC is of course always welcome


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Snatching Love

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Rating:** T for the moment

**Pairing:** Canon Ginny/Harry, Draco/Astoria, future Ginny/Astoria

**A/N:** Currently canon and epilogue compliant, though that may change, and the timeline might be a little messed up

**Summary**: On the same day as a fall puts paid to Ginny Potter's burgeoning Quidditch career, she meets the woman who will shape the rest of her life- for better or for worse. Het canon pairings, and future femmeslash. Ginny and Astoria.

* * *

While Astoria was eating a silent lunch with Draco, Ginny Weasley was making a decision. It was the first one she'd made since the accident, and the most difficult one she could think of ever having to make. With the will that had never failed her, she swung herself up and forced herself to stand on bones that groaned in protest. With slow steps she hobbled to the small bathroom in the corridor and stared at herself with dull-burning horror. Her face wasn't much different. A little thinner of course, the healing had stolen the few reserves she had had of energy, but that wasn't the change. Her eyes were dead, her hair was lank and every bit of the vibrant energy that usually radiated from her was missing. She looked as though she had aged ten years in a night. With a strangled sob, she sat down on the toilet seat and stared at the floor before the rememberance of exactly what she could catch from it forced her back in front of the mirror.

Hobbling back to her room, she washed herself as best as she could with the limited resources and discovered in an overlooked bag that Harry must have brought with him, a change of clothes. Muggle ones, designed to be easy to put on and move in. With careful movements she pulled the t-shirt and hoody over her head, after her struggle with the bra, that had only been solved by her fastening at the front then wriggling it round, then into the loose skirt and flat lightweight boots. Over it all went her familiar blue coat. Her hair was too greasy to do anything with, so she braided it back tightly against her head, and wiped her face clean. Now when she looked in the mirror, she was younger than she was. A puzzled teenager stared back, and she looked away, and rang the small bell she had been given. In moments a junior Healer appeared. Moments after that a senior one appeared. He remonstrated with her, reminded her that if she left, her bed would be forfeit, told her she still needed additional care and when she remained adamant he gave up. Briefly and briskly he reiterated what she had already been told. "No Apparation of course. No travel by flu, no flying. Avoid anything strenuous at all, whether it is a Knight-bus ride, making a cup of coffee when the sugar being too high on the shelf or walking too far. No sex of course. Since you insist on being discharged immediately, I want to book you in for a further outpatient appointment." He had stared at her, as though weighing her flaws with a critical eye, judging her truthfulness, and she'd stared back, numbly, unable to ask anything, or even to nod to his comments. It was obvious to any trained eye that she shouldn't be out of bed, let alone out of hospital, but they were too busy to bother arguing with a woman who was hardly their most urgent case, and who would be swept into the care of her loving family.

That of course was where they were wrong. From the moment she had woken, Ginny had been enfolded in a dreamlike state, where nothing seemed to make sense at all, and some things made even less sense than others. Even her horror at her appearance had been strangely muted, as though it simply did not matter. Her missing wand and what the Healers told her had barely dented her calm. Only one thing got through, and that was the hurt and the grief in Harry's eyes. Even the memory of it shredded at her soul, made her want to Scourgify the stain of it away. The look in his eyes made her feel entirely helpless. She stood in the hallway and with no interest watched the people come in and out. Although St Mungos had an entrance on the Muggle world, there was a more popular entrance from Sixpence Street. Just one word to the desk staff, and her family would be here, smothering in their concern, utterly oblivious to how much she needed to be alone, away from their too bright smiles, and careful questions. Or what was far worse Harry, who had lost so much and didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve to have to see her in this state.

She couldn't stand the thought for even a moment, and gradually her eyes fixed on the muggle entrance. It couldn't do any harm surely to not go back straight away. Digging her hands deeper into her pockets, she encountered her purse, with the never touched emergency Muggle money, two notes with £10 emblazoned on each. She had no idea what the exchange rate was, but surely there was enough for a cup of coffee, and a bus back. She had always been excellent with direction, and finding her way back here would be easy.

The next moment she had left, finding herself on a busy muggle street, with shoppers who barely glanced at the ill looking young woman who stood there looking rather frightened. She'd forgotten just how loud the Muggle world was, and it entirely disorientated her. After perhaps three minutes of walking, her legs began to give out from under her, but grimly she forced herself to continue walking until she saw something that looked even vaguely like a coffee shop. It was a long hard haul, with frequent rests but eventually she was ensconed in a window seat, with something she'd been impatiently told by the rude woman behind the counter, was a latte when she asked for coffee with milk. The old Ginny Weasley would have cut the woman down to size with a few biting words, but the new Ginny was already learning that from now on effort would have to be consciously weighed and thought over before being expended.

Astoria herself was puzzled at the moment. She'd grown rather used to the life she was leading at the moment. It was a life she had always known that she might lead- full of the finer things in life, gourmet food, exquisite belongings, gorgeous clothes and social prestige within her own circle. She had never really expected it to be this empty. Draco was always away, doing whatever it was that he filled his days with- mostly managing the resources that kept the money coming in, and she had gradually discovered that boredom couldn't be cured by the endless rounds of decorating and organising and running a household that didn't need her. She'd grown up in the faded grandeur of a pureblood home, an ancestral manor with one ancient house-elf, always aware that Greengrass had been a great name, that in her line were men and women that had shaped the world, but also equally aware that their time was past. That with every year the gold threaded drapes grew barer, the velvet upholstered chairs shabbier, and the portraits grew quieter. Her father a prolifigate wastrel, her mother an upright burning eyed wraith of a woman whose hands were chapped and sore from the work she did alongside her house-elf. And when she and Daphne were small they had helped in their own way, learned their lessons at the skirts of a woman of tenacious spirit, and who had taught them that marrying well was their first duty. That once they were married they could do as they wished, as pureblood witches always did, but that such latitude required money.

And Draco of course had been the prize, the prize she had been surer of her sister Daphne carrying off than herself. Daphne was prettier, but she was also engaged. In the end she and Draco had seen something in each other that made them recognise that while they might not find love, they could definitely find friendship.

And then Ginny Weasley had appeared and upset everything that Astoria had believed. As pureblooded as Astoria herself, if not with the same impeccable lineage, and though certainly the Weasleys had never had the eminence the Greengrasses had once possessed, they were also of very decent stock. And there she had been, sitting in a hospital bed, her body shattered and her eyes empty. Something of the unfairness of it itched at her (and imagine that; a Slytherin caring about fairness) that the beautiful redhead in her year, had been so crushed. She twitched her shoulders uncomfortably, but allowed the silence to continue. This was ridiculous, it really was. She didn't care about Ginny Weasley, never had, never would. So Why was she feeling the urge to find her?

If she'd known the right person to ask, she'd have had the answer sooner. Even if she'd asked Draco, described the peculiar itching sensation in her hands, and down the line of her back, the small still voice that was telling her with an implacable urgency to go to Ginny Weasley, he might have been able to tell her. Explain the smallest bit about that area of magic which Voldemort himself had only ever been able to take a glimpse of. The world of magic that lay outside of any wizard or witches comprehension, the arcane boundaries of life debts, blood debts and the various complicated arcane rules that governed those bonds between people- bonds as varied as the marriage ritual, or as important as cutting the tie between a mother and her new baby.

When one wizard or witch saved the life of another, it was not as simple a matter as a life debt existing. If that was the case then every Healer would have a multitude of life debts attached on them, and there would have been certain unscrupulous people who would have set up dangerous situations then 'saved' whoever wandered by in order to gain a hold over that person's soul. The magic itself seemed to assume where there was a lifedebt, and how heavy it could make that burden. Draco still owed one to Harry Potter, as his went it wasn't so bad. She and he both knew that if the call came, he would have to go. That it was possible one night he would wake, summoned by an urge only he could feel, called by a force that Harry Potter probably wouldn't even be aware of to do or be somewhere. A similar force existed between Narcissa Malfoy and Harry Potter, but it was a thin thread, not easily snapped, but more easily ignored. A life debt was not cancelled by saving someone's life in return necessarily, there had been cases recorded in which it simply meant that a second bond existed. Usually most of the time a life debt could be snapped by a service rendered at a time of need, though a certain willingness to help was necessary.

But sometimes threads could be crossed. A life-debt or a bond formed, might be superseded or changed . And something that was one moment only one of the many ties that held you to the world could without your consent or knowledge become the most important thing in the world to you. It was odd that Astoria who had never thought that she would be one of those people, one of those people that was different from the standard run of humanity would have such a thing happen. That what should have been if a life-debt at all, simply a rather standard tie, had mutated. A tie that Ginny Weasley should have felt, had been extended to her, and even at this moment the nagging unease that she felt could be explained by Ginny Weasley wandering alone in Muggle London.

But she didn't know this. Nor did she know who to ask, and so the peculiar feeling in the back of her mind continued. Breaking with tradition of small-pence the money that whichever member of the family was the heir, doled out to the rest, Draco had shown his peculiar trust in her, by letting her use what she wished, even setting aside a vault for her own expenditure. There was a small feeling of glee still at being able to go and simply buy whatever she wanted. Not having to scrimp and save, like she had throughout her childhood. Not having to reuse Hogwarts robes freshened by household charms year after year, and to ignore the fact that Pansy Parkinson who didn't have one tenth of the honour of the Greengrasses, was dressed with ten times the amount of money. Now it was different. Pansy was struggling to marry- acceptably wealthy, elegant, talented, handsome male purebloods were apparantly too thin on the ground these days, and Pansy would never consider perhaps dropping a few qualifications, though the engagement with Blaise Zabini still lingered on, it now seemed to be mutually understood that the marriage would never take place if either of them found someone better.

After a silent meal, Draco adjourned back to his office, and Astoria, a heavy feeling still remaining in the pit of her stomach wandered Diagon Alley, until it began to get dark and cold. If she hadn't been so alone, or so bored, or so off-centred from her encounter at the hospital, she might have not bothered going to visit Ginny Weasley again. But it was a sudden impulse. She wouldn't talk to the other woman or even let her know that she had passed. But it would only be the courteous option to return the wand that had unthinkingly been scooped up from where it lay battered on the ground, beside Ginny Weasley's equally battered body. She had no memory of picking it up, but a sense of curiousity impelled her onwards. And when Healers looked at her with astonishment when she asked where Ginny Weasley was, she also felt a mild sensation of fear, as well as an impotent desire to scream. What was the medical profession coming to these days, when they let a still healing patient walk out the door with more than likely no money, certainly no wand, and judging from the account of the on-duty porter straight into Muggle London. And for that matter where was her smotheringly overprotective family when she could most have done with them?

Astoria had never been into Muggle London unaccompanied, and only ever once with someone else. She had been horrified at it, the noise and the smell, the sheer amount of people crowding every pavement. It was a world away from the small wizarding enclaves, gracious Manors and singular houses she was used to. It had frightened her, and sickened her. She would be mad even to attempt finding Ginny Weasley in such a place, and for such a motive as simply to return a wand. So when she found herself on the street outside St Mungos, she cursed herself for a fool. Then she started looking. The lessons that were drilled into every magical child thudded through her head. Don't look conspicuous. Hide your wand at all times. Don't ever catch someone's eye. And try to look as boring as you can. She knew at once she was failing. Tall, blond and striking, dressed in a green robe and a cloak she was drawing all the wrong kinds of looks, a lot of which were not friendly, and her skills of practical Transfiguration couldn't be used on this crowded street. She improvised, twitching her wand in a Notice-me-Not charm, and immediately the eyes simply slid over her. Most of the muggles could still see her, but she made no perceptible impact on their subconscious. She found that if she concentrated hard she could see graduations in their awareness- one small child quite openly stared at her and had to be pulled away, while a young woman in a Muggle business suit not only noticed but even seemed to recognise her, her brows creasing in a way that suggested a desperate attempt to remember. Astoria realised that these must be those with a little bit of magic deep inside, just not enough to be accepted to Hogwarts.

If she had known Ginny Weasley at all, it would have been easy to find her. She could have used one of the numerous Location charms on offer, but they ranged from needing something of the person, or at least having a strong sense of awareness about them. After more than half an hour of roaming footsore on the streets, Astoria's fear, and her disgust had subsided into something closer to interest. Muggles were interesting. It was a reluctant thought, but true. True she understood about a quarter of the things they were buying and selling and wearing, but it all seemed rather fascinating. And their clothing was fantastic. She'd covered a lot of ground and wandering down Oxford Street (in point of fact none too far from where Ginny Weasley was sitting, sipping at a coffee) resisting the urge to dare the shops. Now that would start a trend, she told herself in amusement. Astoria Malfoy in a muggle ballgown.

When she found Ginny Weasley it was as pure a stroke of luck as had ever existed, because it was Ginny who spotted her, and it was her open-mouthed astonishment that attracted Astoria's attention. And in the shock of being pulled into a Muggle loo in a coffeeshop, the awkwardness that would inevitably resurface was at least delayed. The wand she flourished, with her excuses, and minutes later, with a dexterity her mother would have envied, Ginny had transformed the green cloak Astoria wore into something that passably resembled the long winter coats that Astoria had seen Muggles wearing. Now that she had found Ginny, getting them back to somewhere she recognised was the most important thing. But when she gripped Ginny's arm in preparation for Apparation, she was startled by the touch of long fingers against her own, and silent misery on the other face. "I can't Apparate," said the other woman dully. "The Healers said it might harm my bones at the moment." There was an awkward silence. Ginny broke it first. "Thank you so much though," she said helplessly. "I hope I didn't drag you out of your way too far, just to give me back my wand."

Astoria thought about what had seemed like the miles of ground covered, in a search that had seemed ever more hopeless, then shook her head firmly. "It was... interesting," she offered, and although she didn't volunteer this to Ginny, it seemed to satisfy something as well. The annoying itch in her mind, and tingle down her back had vanished. "Now let's try and get you home." She rode roughshod over Ginny's protests. "I'm not just leaving you in Muggle London. Do you think your nerves can stand the Knight Bus? It's probably just about late enough for them to be on the route."

Fire flickered into Ginny's eyes. "My nerves can definitely stand it," she said proudly, in such a way that Astoria knew that it could cause her hell and she wouldn't say a word. Nodding, she Disillusioned them both, and stuck out her wand hand. Bribing the conductor with a handful of Galleons carelessly given, she secured his promise that they would be let out first- at Malfoy Manor. Ginny had already told her that she'd asked no-one to come to the hospital tonight, and they wouldn't expect her at home.

Turning up with Ginny Weasley in tow, was not the strangest thing she had ever done, but it was certainly one of them. The house-elf who greeted her at the door, shot her the most horrified look. "What is Mistress doing?" it asked, wringing its tiny hands. Flopsy was the most malignant of the Manor's elves. The oldest in residence, and the one least accustomed to change, she had made it clear in a hundred small ways that she thought Astoria shouldn't darken the door. With a sigh, Astoria waved her away, and summoned Honey instead. Ginny looked frightful, her skin parchment white, her few freckles standing out like daubs of colour, dark shadows etched under her eyes. Her hands were shaking with weariness, and Astoria was certain that it was only with the utmost effort that she was even still standing. She was also certain that if the other woman hadn't been so utterly exhausted, she would have declined the help offered. As it was, Astoria helped more than the elves, people who hadn't grown up with them seldom found it comfortable having a personal attendant who wasn't human. Astoria was scarcely tall, but even so the nightgown she summoned swamped Ginny, making her appear more like a flouncy cake than a girl, as she wriggled out of her clothes, and into the ready warmed guest bed. Astoria knew that it was probably richer than anything she had ever seen- the Weasley family home was by all accounts a modest affair, and the Potters were known to live simply, but the richness didn't seem to burden the young woman, and in minutes she was asleep. It was only then that Astoria remembered that Ginny Weasley didn't seem like the type of woman who read the society pages, and that she had only introduced herself by her given name. In all liklihood, she didn't even realise she was at Malfoy Manor.

It was only then that the day's essential strangeness caught up with her. Despite being entirely uninvolved in the war, and all the messy side affects of it, marrying a Malfoy and being a Slytherin had meant that even in the most periphael way, she had been aware of how she was meant to feel towards the woman completely sleeping. The woman who in her head was alternately Ginny Weasley or simply Ginny, and yet had not even for a second been Ginny Potter. A mixture of annoyance and distaste would have been right, an indication that while she knew of the service the Potters had done the wizarding world, that it didn't entitle them to respect. Yet not only had she gone far out of her way to assist someone who should have been the most distant of acquaintences- she doubted Ginny remembered sharing a Potions textbook even as vaguely as Astoria did, but she had invited them to a place that was her and Draco's retreat from the world, a serene, untroubled oasis of calm, utterly removed from the small slights Draco, and she by extension received as well- the cold looks, the minor curses and always the tightening of lips and drawing away that were too often their lot among the general populace. And though she tried half-heartedly to tell herself that she was obviously only doing it for the purposes of some plan she hadn't properly formulated yet, she knew that the real truth was a lot simpler. Boredom, curiousity and in large measure loneliness had forced her into taking direct action by reaching out to someone who she barely knew, and who would probably withdraw in horror once she realised her benefactor was Draco Malfoy's wife.

Draco was home for dinner at the usual time, impeccably dressed as was she. When she told him in a few well chosen words what had happened, he looked at her with weary amazement, but made no protest, not even a few token mutters about blood matters or imprecations against those damn Potters. She noticed how tired he looked, and in a rare moment of physical closeness, squeezed his hand. He smiled at her a little. "I can't wait to see Potter's face," he even managed to joke. "Hasn't he noticed she's gone missing yet?"

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I've already written the next two thousand words. Some reviews would be rather nice, especially constructive criticism.


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